Normalcy is Overrated
by i AM the Random Idiot
Summary: ON HIATUS. AU Written preHBP. With Lord Voldemort busy with...other things, is it possible for Harry to have a normal 6th year? ...Probably not. A new guidance counselor, a mysterious stalker, and a pinball machine all make this year the zaniest yet!
1. Another Year

**Normalcy is Overrated**

AU Written pre-HBP. With Lord Voldemort busy with...other things, is it possible for Harry to have a normal 6th year? ...Probably not. RHr HG

A/N: Ok, I didn't really write this before HBP per se, but I had the idea before the book came out. It's insane, random, and possibly quite humorous. Reviews, comments, flames, and psychiatric evaluations all are welcome!

Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING! Even my brain is controlled by the aliens.

**Chapter 1:** **Another Year**

"School prepares you for the real world, which also sucks." –Happy Bunny

"Another year, another attempt on my life..." Harry mumbled dejectedly during the Welcome Feast. Ron patted his shoulder sympathetically.

"Cheer up, mate, maybe this year you'll get lucky. You-Know-Who could be busy doing...umm..." He trailed off, clearly at a loss. "Other things," he finished rather lamely.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Shh, Dumbledore's speaking!" Hermione hissed furiously.

Dumbledore had indeed risen from his seat, and looked ready to make his usual speech.

"To our first-years, welcome! To everyone else, welcome back! Blah, blah, blah—that should do for a good speech, don't you think?" He looked around the room, eyes twinkling. The first-years looked totally bewildered; everyone else was used to his eccentricity.

"As per usual, we have a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher—well, two, actually! Please welcome...Professor E!"

A man dressed in worn denim jeans, a white T-shirt, and a leather jacket stood up from the staff table. Despite his casual clothing, he looked rather forbidding. A pair of dark, reflective sunglasses completely obscured his eyes; underneath those, his cheeks were hollow, and his mouth was a thin line. He was very lean, wiry and of average height.

"And...Professor—" Dumbledore began, but the professor's name went unheard as almost a thousand children began talking immediately about the mysterious Professor E. They shut up instantly when the other professor stood up.

What he looked like remained a mystery to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, however, because they were seated at the very back of the Hall. Even Ron, the tallest, couldn't see when he stood up and craned his neck over the rest of the standing students.

All they could hear was, "...Well, I think that's it! Prefects, lead your Houses back to their dormitories..." from Dumbledore, and then all the children started flooding towards the doors at the end of the Hall. By the time the stampede slowed down, the new professors were nowhere to be seen.

"Well, that was anticlimactic," Hermione said.

"Hermione, what did we agree about big words?" Ron asked exasperatedly.

Ignoring this, Hermione grabbed Ron's arm, and gasped, "Ron! We have to help the first-years!"

Ron pulled his arm out of her vise-like grip, and said, "You go! I'm sick of the little munchkins, anyway."

Hermione gave him a reproachful look and stalked off.

Harry had a bad feeling that Ron was going to walk with him and try to make him feel better, and said, "Maybe you should go, Ron..."

"No! It's bad enough—"

But Harry never found out what was bad enough, because at that moment Ron got pelted with a crumpled up piece of paper.

"Ow! Bloody little—there, I told you, Harry, they're little brats, the lot of them," Ron said furiously, looking over his shoulder at the first-years.

"I don't think a first-year threw this at you," Harry said, bending over and picking up the paper off the floor. "It's a note."

"Give me that," Ron snapped, and they read it.

_Ronald Weasley,_

_It would be a good idea to go with your friend Hermione and do your prefect duties, because in exactly 12 seconds Professor Snape will come walking down the hallway and yell at the first person he sees. Tell your friend Harry to hide in the second broom closet off the first-floor east corridor. He may find something useful._

_From A Friend_

Ron and Harry both gaped at the note. Harry was the first to react.

"Well, do we?"

"Do we what?" Ron asked.

"Do we go with Hermione and hide in a broom closet, respectively?"

"I don't—look out, here he comes!" Ron pointed down the corridor at a malevolent black-robed figure stalking around the corner.

Harry dashed down the first-floor east corridor and threw himself inside a broom closet. From inside, he could hear Snape.

"Fawcett, what are you doing dawdling around? Ninety points from Ravenclaw!" Snape's footsteps slowly receded. Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

He gently eased open the door, and glanced up and down the corridor. Seeing no one, he made a move to go out, but noticed a scrap of parchment on the floor of the closet.

He grabbed it and hurried to catch up with Ron and Hermione, ignoring the first-years who averted their eyes, made arcane signs of warding, or screamed and sprayed the air with Lysol® as he passed.

"Oh, hey, Harry. Tell Hermione I'm not crazy, will you?" Ron said jovially when Harry caught up with them.

"Ron's not crazy," Harry said hurriedly. "Look—"

He showed them the scrap of parchment he found.

_1-666-867-5309_

_This number will come in handy. Trust me._

"It's the same handwriting," Harry said.

"There's a postscript," Hermione said.

_P.S.--Told you so._

A/N: Will they find out who this mysterious stalker is that seems to know all about them? Will we ever see the mysterious professor whose name we do not know? Is Professor E a stupid name? All will be answered...eventually...if I get enough reviews!

PS—The phone number is not real. I made it up. Don't try calling it.


	2. By Evil, We Mean Psychotic

**Normalcy is Overrated**

AU Written pre-HBP. With Lord Voldemort busy with...other things, is it possible for Harry to have a normal 6th year? ...Probably not. RHr HG

A/N: Wow, I finally got some reviews! **Princess-Perfect**—Thanx so much for the positive feedback! **SerenityRose016**—The mysterious writer? Oh, you'd like to know, wouldn't you...Muahahahahahaha...

Disclaimer: Dude, what did I just say?

**Chapter 2:** **By Evil, We Mean Psychotic**

"Evil will always triumph over good, because good is dumb." –Dark Helmet, _Spaceballs_

XxXxX

_Ding-dong. _"Mail's here!" yelled some nameless henchperson. Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange shoved people out of their way to answer the door first.

"Here, I'll need you to sign for this," the UPS guy said, holding out the electronic signature thing. Lucius signed for the package, which was about 3 feet tall, 2 feet wide, and weighed easily 120 pounds.

"Carry it in, Bella," he told her after the UPS guy left.

"Excuse me?" she snarled angrily. "_You_ carry it in, _you_ signed for it."

"I'm not carrying it in! I might break a nail."

"Oh, for crying out—Jugson! Carry that in!" Bellatrix yelled to the Death Eater who had gotten his head stuck in the time jar. "Carry it in, and you get a cookie," she added.

With the question of carrying the package in solved, Bella had more important issues to discuss. "Lucius, remind me again why we moved our Supreme Headquarters of Death to the Rho Alpha Tau fraternity off the campus of a Muggle college?"

"Because," Lucius said simply.

"Because why?" Bella demanded.

"Because I don't know!"

The both of them walked to the improvised dining room, where Jugson had set the mysterious package down and run off to do important things like shove marbles up his nose.

"So...what's in the box?" Bellatrix wondered aloud, looking at the address label. There was no return address, and the box was made out to a "Mr. Dork Lord, number 14 Beach Lane."

"Hmm...That's odd. Our address is number 14 Beach _Row_," Bella said.

"What? That can't be right..." Lucius bent over to check the label, but was interrupted by the arrival of someone wearing ducky pajamas and fuzzy rabbit slippers, clutching a teddy bear.

"What time is it?" asked the person, yawning.

"Uhh, it is 12:13 in the afternoon, your Supreme Dark Lordship, sir," Lucius answered in a disgustingly obsequious suck-uppy voice.

"YOU WOKE ME UP TOO EARLY!" Voldemort thundered in his mighty and powerful way. Even his duckies, rabbit slippers, and teddy bear seemed to quiver with fury. "Now, you must give me my package, because I am expecting a very important set of books that are already 4 DAYS LATE!"

Without waiting for a reply, he tore open the package to find...a pinball machine (some assembly required). "What is this? WHAT IS THIS, I ASK YOU!"

"It's obviously a...demonic training device!" Bella stammered. None of the Death Eaters would know what it was, because none were Muggleborn. "Yes, you put it together...and...it hones your, uh, reflexes, and tests your knowledge of, um...strategy!"

"Yes, it obviously was a free gift," Lucius caught on. "With your books, I mean. They probably mail one to everyone who orders..."

Voldemort, however, was already fitting the legs to the table and putting in the 24 "D" batteries that were included. "Do you know what this is? IT'S A PINBALL MACHINE!" he cried out in joy.

"Uhh..." Lucius and Bellatrix had the exact reaction.

But Voldemort didn't care; indeed he barely seemed to notice them. "I remember...the hellhole of an orphanage they sent me to had the most wonderful pinball machine. I'd _always_ wanted to play, but..." He drifted off, his knuckles whitening on the edge of the table. "I never got a chance. This boy named..._Kevin_," he spat with distaste, like the name was poisonous, "was always hogging it. All the other children would sing the most irritating song around him... "Pinball Wizard", I believe it was called...

"Pinball wizard—I'll show _them_ a pinball wizard!" Voldemort continued. "I WILL CONQUER THE GAME OF PINBALL! AND THEN I WILL **RULE THE WORLD**! With that, the table was assembled and ready. He pulled back on the plunger and launched a pinball, with his long white fingers poisedand ready on the buttons...

...while the pinball sank right through the bottom center hole without the slightest shred of resistance from either flipper.

Voldie's ever-present evil scowl deepened and he launched another ball, which also found itself untouched by the flippers as it, too, sank to the bottom.

"Uh, Your Supreme Darkness?" Bella bravely ventured as Voldemort launched a third doomed ball. "I know that...um, pingball?...is very...important to you, but...how will it help you rule the world? What about taking out the kid?"

At that, Voldemort involuntarily twitched, which allowed his fourth ball the freedom to join its comrades at the bottom. "YOU MADE ME LOSE MY BALL!" he bellowed, but stopped and considered her words.

"Hmm, you may be right. I must conquer the game of pinball, so that I may defeat..." His red eyes narrowed. "..._Kevin McSorbo_." (A/N: Note that I have changed his name for Witness Protection purposes)

"Uhh, don't you mean-" Lucius tried to say, but was interrupted.

"SILENCE! I AM BUSY CONQUERING THIS PINBALL MACHINE!" Voldemort screamed.

Bella and Lucius simply looked at each other. This wasn't good.

A/N: Wow, so many new questions. If their address was really Beach _Row_, and not _Lane_, then who was the package really intended for? Will Voldemort ever enact his revenge on Kevin McSorbo? Do you think Bella and Lucius have the hots for each other? Once more, these questions will not be answered until I get my reviews!


	3. Crazy Doesn't Even Cover It

**Normalcy is Overrated**

AU Written pre-HBP. With Lord Voldemort busy with...other things, is it possible for Harry to have a normal 6th year? ...Probably not. RHr HG

A/N: Sorry for taking so long with my update. My muses were on their pre-Labor Day weeklong vacation, and I was stuck sitting around naming my toes ("Ok, Jenny, do you like the pink polish, or the blue polish?" "Adrian, I'm afraid you need a clipping today..." etc.). Yeah, I have weird hobbies. And now that school has officially begun (boo), my update will gradually get fewer and farther between. My apologies. **SerenityRose016**- Thanks for bothering to review, unlike some people... glares at non-reviewers Moo. Hate to tell you, but the identity of the mysterious note-writer will remain unknown for most of the fic (Though later you will probably be able to make a wild guess if you think about it...).

Disclaimer: **_AAAHHHHHH! LAWYERS! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!_**

**Chapter 3:** **Crazy Doesn't Even Cover It**

"Insanity is just genius before it's had its coffee." –Me (seriously, that's probably the most profound thing I've ever said)

XxXxX

Ron was rapidly becoming obsessed with discovering the identity of the mysterious note-writer. Harry put up with his attempts to stake out the girls' bathroom with only one or two complaints, but when Ron began walking up to random people demanding handwriting samples, Hermione became extremely concerned.

"Maybe he should see the guidance counselor," she whispered to Harry during one Potions class. **(A/N: Me again. FYI, Harry got an E in his Potions OWL, but Snape was forced to accept him and the other E students because the Ministry decided to regulate the minimum passing grade for all classes. Hey, if they were doing the stupid school reform stuff in 5th year, why not continue? That's also where the guidance counselor came from, probably to comfort all the hysterical kids because Voldie's back. Anyhoo, I forgot to mention it in Chapter 1, so just pretend Harry and Ron missed the announcement at the feast because they were busy flinging food at Malfoy with their spoons or something. My apologies.)**

"What guidance counselor?" Harry asked in bewilderment.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "The one you and Ron missed the announcement about because you were busy flinging food at Malfoy with your spoons, hello."

"Oh."

After the Potions lesson, Hermione and Harry dragged Ron by the arms over to the guidance office (formerly an unused broom closet). The small, shabby, lopsided sign on the door read "Majiorem Killith". Beneath the sign was a painted logo reading "Wyld Stallynz". After the three of them shared an apprehensive look, Harry knocked twice on the door.

They didn't know what to expect, but they certainly weren't expecting the door to be flung wide open and a loud jovial voice squeal, "Hello!" A woman appeared in the doorway. She looked to be about 22-23, average height and weight, with her blonde-streaked-with-chestnut-brown hair pulled up away from her face. Her eyes were hazel, and she had her ears and one eyebrow pierced with silver hoops. She didn't look like any witch they had _ever _seen.

"Uh, Professor..." Hermione trailed off, looked at the sign on the other side of the door, and continued, "Killith? We were wondering if—"

"Oh, I'm not a professor, dudes. My name is Majoram Kiliith, call me Maj. They spelled my name wrong on the door, I'm afraid," the strange lady said cheerfully. She pronounced her name, "Mah-jor-ahm Kill-ee-ith".

"They spelled something else wrong, too—what is that supposed to say?" Ron asked pointing to the logo. Maj laughed.

"That's spelled right! That's the band logo for—" –She stopped and put her hands up- "—Wild Stallions! They are the most triumphant band to ever play. And one day their music will stop pollution, end war, align the planets, bring harmony to the universe, and allow us to communicate with everyone from extraterrestrials to household pets. Ted is very hot, and Bill has most excellent electric guitar skills. But you didn't come to me to hear about that. What's up?"

After her soliloquy, they were slightly freaked out. Harry was the first to regain the power of speech.

"Yeah, well, you see, my friend has been feeling...off the past few days, and we were wondering if you could, you know, help him out, and—"

Maj's face broke into a huge grin. "Oh, man, why didn't you say so! I'd _love_ to help little munchkin dude out! I mean, dude, it's what I _do_! Most excellent!" She did a little air guitar riff for a couple seconds. "Come in, come in!" She beckoned them into her "office".

"Now, it's not real roomy in here, I admit, but I'm sure I'll be in my regular room as soon as they get it set up. As you can see," she gestured around her cramped room, about the size of a walk-in closet, "I couldn't fit my usual couch to lie on in here, so I hope the beanbag and armchair are good enough. Now..." She settled behind a tiny little desk with the nameplate "Maj's Crib, Dude", and continued, "...What's crackolatin'?"

Ron showed her the notes and explained, "Someone threw this at me after the feast. They somehow knew that Professor Snape was going to show up, and I don't know what this number is."

"He's been obsessing over it since then," Hermione cut in. "He's constantly trying to find out who the person is—and that's a telephone number, Ron."

"You mean the crazy Muggle talky thing? I got Harry in a world of trouble with that the summer after first year, remember?"

Maj waited for the arguments to settle down, and then held up a hand to signal for quiet. "Well, dudes, this is a bit of a dilemma. But, Ron-dude, I hope you are being reasonable about this."

"I am!" he protested. "I want to know who knows stuff about me, is that a crime?"

Maj smiled, and said, "Well, that's smart of you. You don't want some creep running around with important personal information. That would be most definitely non-non-heinous."

Ron looked confused. "Wait, you _agree_ with me?"

"Well, yes, but you can't go around irritating people." Maj thought for a moment, and an insane grin spread across her face. "Tell you what, munchkin dude. You do what your friends ask and quit being obsessive and harassing people, and I will give you...six Galleons. Deal?"

Ron looked like his eyes were going to fall out of his head.

"Okay, okay, I'll also keep an eye out for any weirdoes. You drive a hard bargain, kid." Maj winked.

Ron snapped back to reality, snatched the proffered handful of Galleons, and gasped, "Deal!"

Maj checked her watch and said, "Well, that took shorter than I expected. I guess you can leave..." She glanced over Harry and Hermione. "...Or the two other dudes could use up the rest of the forty minutes allotted to you, if you feel in a most generous mood."

Hermione smiled and said, "Oh, no, I couldn't possibly. I have an Ancient Runes test tomorrow, and I have to study."

Maj said, "Oh, geez, well far be it from me to detract from your schoolwork. The results of a single test can change the course of the future, you know. How about Ace over here?"

Harry immediately started babbling, "...Oh no, I really don't need...I mean, I just—I have a...Divination test..."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "I thought you _dropped_ Divination..."

Hermione added, "You never studied for the tests anyway..."

The two of them stared at Harry with narrowed eyes. Harry glared right back. Maj just pulled a bowl of popcorn out of nowhere and munched, eagerly looking from face to face.

Suddenly, Harry made a break for the door, just as Ron moved to block the door. The result was a blurred tangle of arms and legs. Hermione quickly slammed the door shut and locked it. The cramped space seemed even tighter as Ron and Harry rolled around, Harry trying to get free as Ron tried to pin him down.

Finally, Ron managed to get Harry into a chokehold around his neck and one arm. Maj pushed the armchair over, gesturing to Hermione to bring the beanbag. Ron dragged Harry over with a great deal of effort, (Ron was taller and stronger, but Harry was leaner, faster, and more flexible, and fought like a cornered wild animal) and Maj grabbed him by the legs.

"Okay dudes, get him on the chair, and we'll find out why he wants to escape so badly. You know, dude," she added to Harry, "you fight most triumphantly. It has been an honor to match skills with you." Harry's reply was to rip a leg free from her grasp, curl it over his back, and attempt to weaken Ron's iron chokehold on his upper body.

"You...can't...get...me...I...don't...have...a...problem..." he gasped between kicks to the back of Ron's head.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow..." Ron grunted at intermittent intervals.

"You know, your hands are getting all white and pruny from being in 'denial'," Maj said, then laughed. "Ha! Ha ha ha ha...get it? Denial? Like the river...you know...in Egypt...he—forget it..."

The crazy mêlée was interrupted by the door opening. Ginny Weasley was standing in the doorway looking at Hermione holding a "Wyld Stallynz" beanbag, Ron holding Harry by his neck and one arm, Majoram clutching his right leg, and Harry bending his left leg back so far he could have kicked himself in the back of the head, delivering punishing blows between Ron's shoulder blades. Everyone froze.

Ginny didn't even flinch; she just walked over to Harry (a distance of about 2 feet) and calmly asked, "Harry, why are you and my brother fighting?"

Harry dropped his gaze to the floor and mumbled, "They want to psychoanalyze me."

Ginny asked, "And do you think you need to be psychoanalyzed?"

"No!"

"I see," she said solemnly. Nobody moved for a couple of seconds. All of a sudden, she jumped forward and began tickling Harry's midsection. Harry gave a surprised "oof" and fell into the armchair Ron and Maj were holding him over. Hermione plunked the beanbag on top of him, and Ginny sat on the beanbag, effectively pinning him in place. "I have experience bugging my brothers," she said, by way of explanation.

Harry gave up struggling and busied himself with glaring bloody murder at them all. Maj shook her head, and said, "Look, dude, all you had to do was say, 'No thanks'. What's the big deal? Why are you so freaked out?"

Hermione said, "Harry's been kind of lethargic and mildly depressed all week." Maj frowned, pulled out a notepad and began to jot down notes.

Harry snapped, "Hermione, I can speak for myself."

"Then why don't you?"

Harry glanced sideways at Maj. "I'm not obligated to tell her anything! She'll probably say everything everyone else said last year: I'm a basket case; I have "issues"; everything."

Ginny said, "No one said you have issues, Harry! It's all in your head—"

"Exactly! 'It's all in my head,' that's all anyone ever told me last year, it's all in my head, including Volde—"

"La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la..." Ron shoved his fingers in his ears at the mention of Voldemort's name.

Maj paused in her scribbling and looked up. "Wait the— wha—hey, _wait_..." She got up and scrutinized Harry. "Wait, you would be Harry, as in _Harry Potter_?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Wow, you're sharp." Ginny smacked him on the arm. "Be nice," she ordered.

"So, why don't you trust me?" Maj asked.

Harry was taken aback by that. "Huh?"

"Well, obviously, you don't trust me to respect you as a person rather than a 'personality'. How come?"

Harry wasn't expecting her to take that kind of line of questioning. "Well," he said, trying hard to regain a modicum of dignity despite being pinned down in an armchair by a beanbag and his best friend's sister, "you haven't given me a reason to trust you."

"Good answer," Maj inexplicably smiled. "But I didn't give you a reason to _dis_trust me, did I, dude?"

"Well, no, but-"

"Well, obviously you weren't willing to give me the benefit of the doubt. Clearly this shows a lack of trust, which leads to a lack of communication, which leads to a lack of mutual respect on all sides of any relationship. Most non-non-heinous." She scribbled something on her notepad, then looked at Harry again. "Well? Have I insinuated in any way that you have issues of any kind?"

Harry looked at her incredulously, and said, "You make it sound like I have trust issues."

Maj laughed and clapped her hands. "_Good_, very good. You're smarter than most. I respect that." She leaned in closer, no longer laughing. "Dude, I know you're going through a lot of shit. Understand this: I'm here for you. Most think my job is to tell people what's wrong with them. What I'm really here for is to help people figure out their problems when they can't on their own. I'm not gonna spoon-feed you. That's not my job."

She walked over to her desk, and pulled out a sealed note. "Give this to your Head of House. As the guidance counselor, one of my duties is to help dudes out with their schedules. I have yours here, to which I've taken the liberty of adding a period of counseling on Mondays and Fridays every week. Don't skip, 'cause I'll know, dude." Maj motioned for Ginny to get up and take the beanbag with her. She handed Harry the note, then, to everyone's utter surprise, she abruptly pulled him close and gave him a noogie. "Despite what you may think, dude, we made a lot of progress today. Go bug a teacher for me."

Harry pulled himself away hurriedly, attempted fruitlessly to flatten his hair back down, and raced out the door. Hermione, Ron, and Ginny left at a more leisurely pace followed by Maj's parting words of, "Be excellent to each other." They moved a little farther down the hallway before Ron suddenly turned to Ginny.

"Wait, how did you know we were in there?" he asked suspiciously. Ginny just flashed a grin.

"Let's just say a little birdie dropped this," she said, pressing a piece of paper into Ron's hand, and walking away. Ron uncrumpled it and read:

_Ginny Weasley,_

_If you proceed to the guidance counselor's office, you may stumble upon an interesting scene. Give Ron my love._

_A Friend_

A/N: Wow, that was a longer chapter than I meant to write. But anyway, I'll probably only update once a week, if I get lucky. School sucks. So the chapters may be longer to make up for it. If Maj needs to swear any more, I may change the rating so the little children aren't scarred. Shoulda given warning. Sorry.

Why is Maj so weird? Will the bribe she gave Ron deter him from seeking out this mysterious stalker? Will Harry come to terms with his "issues"? Am I in trouble for not mentioning "Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure" in my disclaimer? (Lawyers: "Yes" Me: "AAAHHH! LAWYERS!") As per usual, review and all questions will be answered, all mysteries solved!


	4. Don't Touch The Red Button

**Normalcy is Overrated**

AU Written pre-HBP. With Lord Voldemort busy with...other things, is it possible for Harry to have a normal 6th year? ...Probably not. RHr HG

A/N: Hey, dudes. Like Maj? She's possibly one of the best OC's I've ever created. Don't like OC's? Tough—this fic will have four or five important ones in all (maybe more; I haven't finished the outline yet). **SerenityRose016**- I really, really appreciate your reviews. If you want a special OC cameo, give me a description of you in your next review, and I'll squeeze you in a vacant slot (I like to keep options open). turns and stares at non-reviewers See? Just review and you can have fame and fortune, too! In fact, next chapter, there will be a little contest! Winner gets a cameo, but you have to review to enter! Details next chapter, but I shouldn't count my chickens before they hatch. Now, I should shut up and get to the story...

Disclaimer: Well, I'm bored. ...Don't own Harry Potter, or Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure...or that cool top from American Eagle that I really, really want...or the Taj Mahal...

**Chapter 4:** **Don't Touch the Red Button**

"Most of the evils of life arise from man's being unable to sit still in a room." –Blaise Pascal

XxXxX

_Bling-bling-bling-bling-bling-bling...Bloop-beep! __Bling-bling-bling-bling-bling-bling_...

The incessant blinging, blooping, and beeping of the pinball machine was keeping the entire Death Eater headquarters up all night. MacNair, in particular, was the most afflicted, having the room closest to the living room. Trust us—you don't want to get on the nerves of a sleep-deprived executioner.

As a result, the quality of the Death Eaters' evil labor took a serious dive. Let me illustrate it for you—the week before, they had killed four innocent wizards, blew up a Muggle bridge, and booby-trapped nine public toilets. This week, Lucius graffitied a park bench, Bella and Narcissa stole some tubes of lipstick from the mall, and Greyback bit some girl's teddy bear. Without the invaluable leadership of their supreme leader, they were falling apart.

That's not to say Voldemort didn't give instructions. They just weren't as detailed, foolproof, and coherent as they used to be. When Snape asked for further spying instructions, Voldemort turned to him (after losing another ball, of course), and demanded, "Snape, how good is Dumbledore at pinball?"

Snape almost laughed out loud at this, except that Voldemort's red eyes looked more sinister than usual because they were so bloodshot and had deep purple bags under them from lack of sleep. He immediately arranged his face into what he hoped held a combination of reverence, awe, fear, respect, and curiosity, (but actually looked like a combination of amusement and constipation) and respectfully asked, "My Lord? Forgive me for asking, but why?"

Voldemort's right eye started twitching, and he said, in a very low and serious voice, "I need you, my good servant, to spy on Dumbledore, glean as many pinballing secrets as you can from him, and report back to me IMMEDIATELY. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Snape said, even as he thought, _Hell, no_.

XxXxX

When Snape got up the nerve and asked him a few days later, Dumbledore looked as confused as it is physically possible to look.

"Voldemort asked you to ask me about _pinball_?"

Snape twitched at the mention of Voldemort's name, and said, "Yes. Okay, now that I've asked you, can you just admit you don't know anything so I can report back without lying—?"

Dumbledore held up a hand to silence him, and said, with a twinkle in his eye, "Now, who says I don't know anything? I'll have you know I was the Scotland Pinball Champion three years running. Now..." He trailed off, staring into space, "...how can we work this to our advantage...?" He paused, then grinned insanely. "Tell him..."

XxXxX

"...and he never touches the red button," Snape finished saying. He was back at the Death Eater Headquarters of Doom. Voldemort was absorbing the garbage Snape was feeding him like a sponge. Snape could only attribute it to lack of sleep.

"But why? Why not the red button? What significance does it hold?" Voldemort demanded.

Snape inwardly sighed with exasperation. The Dark Lord had _no_ appreciation for dramatic effect. "He never touches the red button, O Dark Lord of all Supreme Discomfort, because he _fears_ to. He believes its dark powers are too grand for him to control. However, I'm sure one as trained in the great arts of death and evil as yourself could bring its great might to heel..."

"Yesss..." Voldemort began to get excited. "Yes, of course...he would be too 'principled' to utilize its awesome potential... I must test it!"

He dashed into the living room. Snape stood in the doorway, just to see what would happen.

What happened was: Voldy launched a ball, whacked it around the machine for a while (obviously his skills were improving), and surreptitiously reached under the table for the red button (marked by the yellow label reading, "DO NOT PUSH!"). He pushed it.

What happened next truly belonged on an episode of "The Twilight Zone". The ground began to shake. A greenish glow began to emanate from the ball, which began to rocket around inside the machine of its own accord, as the entire table started to rise into the air. The _bling_s, _bloop_s, and _beep_s began to sound more eerie and sinister, more like ghostly voices wailing, "_Doom! Doom! Doom! Doom! Doom! Doom! ..._"

A menacing face appeared, shimmering in the air above the machine. Pale green-skinned and red-eyed, the face grinned to reveal pointed fangs and cackled. Its silver hair blew about its pointy ears like flames.

The Death Eaters barely noticed, mostly because they all were still in a hazy fog of sleepless exhaustion. All except Jugson, who hardly slept anyway, due to his constant state of sugar-induced hyperactivity. You see, he was the Death Eater who got his head stuck in the time jar at the end of OotP. When they pulled him out, his brain was roughly at the four-year-old stage. The best Healers the Death Eaters had simply couldn't fix it. The best they could do was to fix his head physically, so he looked normal. However, he still had a four-year-old brain and IQ.

Getting back to the situation at hand: Voldemort was plastered against the wall by the blowing wind, Snape was swearing filthily and covering his eyes with his free hand, and the few Death Eaters near at hand were in various stages of drooling, staring off into space with bloodshot eyes, or, in Jugson's case, kneeling with his forehead pressed to the floor, believing this to be a sign from the Great and Almighty Barney that the Sacred Pinball Machine was to be revered and venerated. (It has always been theorized that four-year-olds worship characters they see on TV. This is slightly off the mark. Four-year-olds' brains and free will are completely subjugated by televised airwaves until they grow old enough to develop immunity, which usually comes too late and they end up indoctrinated by marketing executives. Ask any parent.)

The wind and spectral wailing reached a crescendo. The malevolent face laughed wickedly, and said, in a voice reminiscent of the guy who sings _The Devil Went Down to Georgia_:

"**_YOUR HIGH SCORE HAS BEEN SET TO ZERO!"_**

Immediately the wind stopped, the face disappeared, the doomed voices stopped howling, and the pinball machine dropped to the ground with a _thud!_ The only clue of what had transpired were the blinking letters on the display screen spelling out, "_LOSER_".

"NOOOOOO!" Voldemort yelled in anguish. "I spent **_3 weeks_** setting it to 6,666 points! NOOOOOOOO!"

XxXxX

"So, how'd it go?" Dumbledore asked, with a twinkle in his eye, when Snape got back. Snape closed the door to Dumbledore's office behind him, his face white and his hands shaking.

Snape forced out through clenched teeth, "You knew that would happen..."

Dumbledore laughed. "Yes, I had a feeling he wouldn't have read the manual. I'm sure rebuilding his high score will keep him busy for a few more weeks while we plan our next move..." He then noticed Snape's pale face, his twitching eyes, and the numerous small cuts and scrapes across his face. "What happened to you?"

"...You could have warned me..." Snape choked out.

"Did Voldemort punish you for giving him bad information? He normally doesn't go for physical violence—" Dumbledore stopped, seeing Snape shake his head. "What, then?"

"What the hell kind of purpose was that supposed to serve!" Snape exploded violently, unusual for him.

"It's just the reset button..." Dumbledore said, almost at a loss to explain why Snape was behaving so weirdly.

Snape froze, not liking how the conversation was playing out. "You mean it's not supposed to wail and rise up and smash stuff with wind?"

"Uhh..._no_..." Dumbledore looked vaguely nervous now. The both of them just looked at each other for a long moment.

"Let's never speak of this again," Snape said decisively.

A/N: Oooh...scary. Why did that insane thing happen? What does Jugson have to do with it? Will the Death Eaters be much of a threat this year? (Answer: No) And what was with the evil demon person? Guess whose face it is, and win a magical prize! (Hint: It's not President Bush, though that would have been a good guess. And _The Devil Went Down to Georgia_ has nothing to do with it, I just like that song.) Review, and I won't be forced to go nuts and chew off my writing hand!


	5. E is Not a Name

**Normalcy is Overrated**

AU Written pre-HBP. With Lord Voldemort busy with...other things, is it possible for Harry to have a normal 6th year? ...Probably not. RHr HG

A/N: I utterly apologize for being so late. Writer's block is a disease. Anyway, thanks so much to the _one person_ who reviewed for Chapter 4, but since they did not win the contest, it is still open to reviewers! Guess while you still can!

Disclaimer: Umm, I'm saving up to buy the rights to Harry's left shoe, but till then, JK owns it all. Also, I do not own Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure, or the person that Professor E is based off. (Guess who it is and you win a magical prize!)

**Chapter 5:** **"E" is Not a Name**

"Mama always said, 'Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get.'" –Forrest Gump

XxXxX

Their first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson began the day after the counseling incident on Monday. Hermione dragged Harry and Ron over to the seats right near the front of the room and plunked them down.

"Boy, it'll be great to finally have a real Defense teacher after last year, won't it?" she asked eagerly.

"Don't I count?" Harry said in mock outrage.

"No, see, _you_ didn't assign homework. Hermione _missed_ homework," Ron piped in.

"Shut up," Hermione grumbled.

The room fell silent as the door opened. In walked...Professor E. Up close, he looked even creepier than he did in the Hall. His skin was deathly pale, his ebony-black hair was streaked with silver, and he still was wearing his large, reflective sunglasses so the students could see nothing of his eyes. He wore the same Muggle attire they had seen him wear the first day: torn, faded blue jeans, scuffed black work boots, plain white T-shirt and black leather jacket.

As he walked in, the class felt a chill run down their collective spines. It wasn't that the professor _looked_ threatening; it was more that he seemed to carry an aura around him of cold contempt for the world. They instinctively could sense that here was a man who'd witnessed war, who'd challenged Death to a staring contest—and won.

Professor E made his way to the blackboard, picked up a piece of chalk, and began to write on the board while saying, "My name is Professor _E_—" –the chalk squealed, and as he put it down to face the class, he continued, "—and I am here to instruct." Though he spoke barely above a whisper, his voice carried to the back of the room. He had a gift for keeping a class silent.

"Now," he said, stepping over in front of Ron's desk, leaning down, and putting his face six inches from Ron's, "What do you think I am here to teach you?"

Ron swallowed nervously, and stuttered, "Uhh, ummmm..."

"No, Mr. Weasley, 'Ummmm' is not the answer. If I manage to teach you anything at all this year, I hope you learn how to cogitate without grunting," E cut him off. He walked over to Hermione's desk, leaned over, and said, "Let me rephrase the question: What do _you_ think I should be teaching you this year?"

Hermione flinched and hesitantly stammered, "Defense against the Dark Arts?"

E stood up, looked down at her, and said, "The best in the year, and you repeat the course name back to me?" When she flushed and stared down at her desk, he continued, "You went with the obvious answer. Learn how to think outside the box."

He walked in front of Harry, bent down and asked, "Well, Mr. Potter?"

Harry was getting sick of stupid teachers who picked on the students they taught. He matched him stare for stare, and without blinking or flinching, calmly stated, "Teach them how to fight."

Professor E straightened up quietly, this time without saying anything. Harry could have sworn he saw the faintest suggestion of a smile on E's face, but he must have imagined it, for E's face was completely expressionless a moment later.

"Well, Mr. Potter, the combat arts are one thing I am employed to educate you in this year, among numerous other important life skills. But that isn't the point I am trying to make. When you leave this classroom at the end of the year, I expect each and every one of you to know how to _think_."

The class just stared at him, not sure what to make of this announcement. E went on, "Specifically, I anticipate that you will be able to keep your head about you in a combat situation, or if that isn't your style, I expect you to be able to solve problems rationally, using _logic_. Plan for every contingency, because when the pressure's on, how will you react?" He suddenly whirled in front of Neville, slammed his hands down on the desk, and bellowed, his face inches away from Neville's, "_YOU'RE BARRICADED IN A ROOM, WITH A DOZEN OR MORE DEATH EATERS BLASTING THROUGH THE DOOR! YOUR COMMANDING OFFICER IS UNCONSCIOUS AND YOU CAN'T WAKE HIM UP! HE IS CARRYING VITAL INFORMATION THAT MUST NOT FALL INTO ENEMY HANDS AT ALL COSTS! YOU HAVE FIVE MINUTES, SOLDIER! **WHAT DO YOU DO!**_"

Neville's face was white with terror as he squirmed around in his chair. His breath was starting to come faster and uneven. E screamed once more, "**_ANSWER ME, SOLDIER! WHAT DO YOU DO!_**"

"I don't know, it's not—I don't—I can't think!" Neville wheezed desperately. E just stared at him, his nose almost touching Neville's, for a long moment. Finally, he slowly straightened up, still looking down at Neville. Neville hung his head.

Professor E faced the whole class once more and spoke in his quietest, most solemn voice yet, "In a situation where you must make a life-altering decision, the world will not slow down and give you time to ponder the wisest course of action. You don't have to be incredibly intelligent to make the best choice, but you do need to be able to make it fast. If you can't keep your head under pressure, you will lose it." He looked down at Neville again. "Don't know what you do when the world is yelling at you and judgment rests on your shoulders? Then put your head between your knees, and kiss your ass goodbye."

No one knew what to say. Neville looked like he would cry. Harry looked unimpressed. Hermione looked panicky. Ron looked...angry. He stood up, never minding the silent gasps from quite a few of his classmates.

"Will you leave him alone?" Ron snapped fiercely. "Insulting and yelling at people isn't really an effective way to teach, Mr. Letter-for-a-Name. I personally know what Neville'd do in a situation like that—he'd stand and fight, which I'm sure is more than you can say for yourself!"

After that outburst, you could hear a pin drop in the room. Professor E and Ron were glaring at each other so intensely you could almost see little daggers flying between them. Neville was tugging on Ron's sleeve, silently begging him to sit down and not get into trouble on his account.

Finally, E turned a fraction of an inch to address the entire classroom along with Ron. "Courage, my young friend, I do admire, and I congratulate you on stringing together quite a few sentences without a single 'um'. However," –here his voice grew so cold you'd swear the temperature of the room dropped a few degrees— "disrespect for authority will _not_ be tolerated, Mr. Weasley. Detention. Saturday. _My office_."

XxXxX

"Ron, that was possibly the most useless gesture I've ever seen," Harry told him in the common room later that day.

"Hey, I didn't hear _you_ standing up for the rights of the masses! What about Umbridge last year, huh? You just gave up on keeping psycho teachers in line or what?" Ron snapped sulkily.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "That was with an actual psycho teacher, Ron. Professor E may be a little...intense, but he is actually trying to teach us something useful. Personally, I hope he stays."

Ron stared at him for a second, stunned. "What? He gave me detention! How can you say that?"

"Ron, he gave you detention because you shouted at him and basically called him a coward to his face in front of the class. He yelled at Neville to make a _point_. You messed up the point he was trying to make."

"Whose side are you on?"

Harry folded his arms. "I'm not taking either side, Ron. This whole issue is stupid. Just drop it, okay?"

Ron glared at him, grabbed his Transfiguration book and slammed it shut. A folded piece of paper fluttered out of it. Puzzled, he leaned over to pick it up.

_Ron, _

_Don't skip your detention Saturday night. It may prove to be more educational than your actual lesson today._ _A little tip: Neville can handle himself._

_Love and Kisses,_

_A Friend_

_P.S. Give Hermione a hug tomorrow. Her pet fish died._

XxXxX

"I'm telling you, Hermione, whoever it is has got to be a Gryffindor. No one else can have known about the detention so fast!" explained Ron at the breakfast table the following day. Hermione, however, wasn't listening: She was busy reading a letter from home, her face falling farther with each line. Finally, she put the letter down and sniffed loudly.

"I'm sorry, Ron, I wasn't...really...listening..." she muttered. Ron noticed this, and said, "Are you alright?"

She shrugged. "My parents wrote to tell me Adri- I mean, my pet fish, he died...It's no big deal, it's just a fish...dumb fish..."

At that moment, Ron did something that shocked Hermione, Harry, the people in the immediate vicinity, and even himself. He put his arm around her shoulder, drew her close, and gently hugged her, mumbling, "'Mione, it'll be okay, he's somewhere better...it's okay..."

Hermione sniffed, and said, in a watery sort of way, "I mean, he was a _cute_ fish, but you know, he was just a fish...People are being killed and I'm crying over a dumb fish..."

"...No, he was special to you, it's okay, you can cry..."

However, at that point, Hermione seemed to become aware that, A) the whole of Gryffindor House was _staring at her_, B) her face was all blotchy with tears, and C) Ron—_Ron Weasley, _the most insensitive wart she had ever had the misfortune to meet, in her own words—was _hugging her and telling her it would be alright_—but mostly, he was _hugging her._ At breakfast. _In front of everyone._

"Thanks, Ron, but really, I've got to go to...the library. For a book on...fish." And, awkwardly and hurriedly, she dashed from the Great Hall.

This left Ron sitting there. Feeling extremely stupid. He turned to Harry and said, "I am as gullible as Hermione's dead fish."

A/N: Why is Professor E so creepy? How did the mysterious stalker know Hermione's fish would die? Did Ron's attempt to comfort Hermione actually go better than we thought? Am I going to be lynched by irate Harmonians for calling them "delusional"? Heck, yes! Review while you still can! (While I'm still alive)


	6. Flirting and Food Fights

**Normalcy is Overrated**

AU Written pre-HBP. With Lord Voldemort busy with...other things, is it possible for Harry to have a normal 6th year? ...Probably not. RHr HG

A/N: Hey, what up? Hope you all had a happy Thanksgiving (if you live in America, like me). Anyhoo, nobody has been responding to my happy fun contests, so they have been discontinued... :(

Disclaimer: One of these days, Jo, one of these days...

...In the meantime, I own nothing but an insane obsession with Daniel Radcliffe. squee The bathtub scene in the movie was so hot!

**Chapter 6:** **Flirting and Food Fights**

"It is better to be hated for who you are than to be loved for who you are not." –Unknown

XxXxX

By this time, the Death Eaters had learned to block out the irritating sounds of the dreaded pinball machine in order to get some much deserved sleep. However, they still had no means of deciphering the insane instructions their feared leader issued to them at random hours of the day. Lucius, in particular, was not carrying his missions out to the standard that Lord Voldemort now demanded from his subjects ("No, dammit, I said the _red_ cheat code guide. _RED!_"). To top it off, he was going through some tough times at home.

"Lucius, what's that?" Bellatrix asked curiously, pointing over his shoulder at a letter he held in his hand. He crumpled it up hastily.

"Uhh, noth—" he began, but before he could finish his sentence, she snatched it away from him and uncrumpled it.

"_Dear Lucy_," she read aloud, "—Cissy calls you Lucy?—_I have decided that your job and the fact that you rarely spend time at home shows that you cannot properly understand the issues Draco and I are undergoing in your absence. You never call, and you don't make an effort to show you care. Therefore, I have filed for divorce and won my suit. I am now happily remarried, and hope never to see your face again. Love and Kisses, Narcissa._" Bella looked at Lucius. "She left you?" Lucius nodded sadly.

Bella was stunned. She never expected her sister to have the meanness necessary to pull something like that off—it was part of the reason (as Bella usually taunted) that she wasn't a Death Eater herself. "Uhh..."

"You don't have to say it, I know you're thinking it," Lucius muttered. "MacNair offered to take her out for me, Amycus and Alecto laughed and said their parents never divorced, even if they did put the twins down a well once in a while, and all Jugson does is point at me and say, 'Bad Daddy!'" He put his head between his knees, and wouldn't talk anymore.

XxXxX

Lunch that day was not a pleasant affair.

"Hey, there goes the family man!" "Where's your son? Didn't you say he'd make great suicide mission fodder?" "Hey—Lucius!"

"Yeah, that's right!" Lucius found himself shouting as he whirled around. "I've just finished bawling over my ruined marriage and I'm off to do some more!"

"No, it's just...you dropped your wand." It was Bella.

Lucius felt himself turn redder than a tomato. "Oh. Thanks."

Instead of walking away and making the awkwardness worse, Bella sat down with him in the mess hall. "How are you holding up?"

"Fine, obviously. Why else would I be yelling at innocent bystanders?"

"Oh, please, Lucius, no one here is innocent," Bella said, grinning ironically. When this failed to produce a reaction, she went back to toying listlessly with the food on her plate. Lucius, across the table, was doing the same thing.

"So," Bella said. The eerie silence was unnerving her even more than any dangerous or deadly mission she had been on for the glory of the Dark Lord. "Ah..."

"How are _you_ holding up?" Lucius asked, miserably, like he was just saying something to break the silence as well.

"Um...fine. Yeah...Rodolphus died."

"Your husband?" What surprised Lucius most was that she barely seemed to care that much: at least not with the matter-of-fact way she said it. Maybe she was hiding her pain.

"Yeah, he was running that blow-up-the-bridge mission, and a strut impaled him," Bella said, her eyes on her plate.

"Oh...I'm sorry."

"I guess I wasn't really upset, once the shock wore off. We never talked anymore...and Rabastan kept trying to hit on me. It's kind of lonely at night, though..."

"I'd imagine." Was that supposed to be a subtle hint? Lucius never was very good with how women communicated—Narcissa was very blunt with him.

"Hey, Lucius!" Greyback turned up, a sneer pasted all over his hairy, disgusting face. "How's life with the family? Oh yeah, that's right—your family left you! Guess I can bite your son now, ha-ha—" _Splat._

Greyback looked more stunned than was previously thought to be humanly possible. Smack dab in the middle of his face, Bella had smeared an enormous handful of some mysterious, bean-like foodstuff that the Death Eaters were served every day as part of a healthy, balanced diet of doom. Everyone dropped what they were doing to stare. No one moved. No one spoke. Even Jugson had shut up.

Then, all at once, the neat orderly lunch room degenerated into a chaotic frenzy. Dolohov jumped up on a chair, cupped his hands to his mouth, and screamed "**_FOOD FIGHT!_**", and all hell broke loose. Gobs of unidentified food substances flew like guided missiles, because of course they had been bewitched to fly unerringly towards their respective targets. Eggs, tomatoes, mashed potatoes, bean curd, hard lumps of what had once been rolls but now were more like bullets, and spaghetti smeared with sauce flew around the mess hall.

Lucius and Bella took refuge under their table. "What was that for?" Lucius asked.

Bella flushed. "Oh, he had it coming for years! What makes you think I did it for you?"

"I didn't say I thought that," Lucius pointed out. Bella opened her mouth, then closed it. "But I appreciate the sentiment," Lucius added, more quietly.

Blushing violently, Bella snapped defensively, "I'm not sentimental! What, you think I'm going _soft_? Everything I do, I do for evil and the glory of the mighty and powerful Dark Lord—"

"Want to have dinner with me?" Lucius blurted out, stopping her cold. He hadn't meant to say it; it merely had burst out of him. Flushed redder than a stop sign, he added hastily, "I mean, as _friends_, you know? Seeing as how we won't get anything to eat here now, I thought...umm..."

_He's so cute when he stammers..._, Bella thought. _Narcissa doesn't know what she's talking about._ "Alright, sure," she said. "Where did you have in mind?"

"Oh, it's an, um, surprise," Lucius said. "But you'll love it. Tonight at eight?"

"Tonight at eight," Bella confirmed, smiling for the first time in what felt like forever.

Neither of them noticed the fact that they both were covered in food. They felt...happy.

A/N: Awwww, how cute. But will this relationship work out? Will Greyback want revenge? Where does Lucius have in mind? Once again, reviews equal happy me which equals more story!


	7. Guy Bonding Time, Part One

**Normalcy is Overrated**

AU Written pre-HBP. With Lord Voldemort busy with...other things, is it possible for Harry to have a normal 6th year? ...Probably not. RHr HG

A/N: I am sooo sorry! I haven't updated this for...let's see, when was it?...over two months! Wow. I really do apologize, but I was bitten by a fanfiction bug...in another fandom. If there are any Danny Phantom fans out there, check out my fic!

Disclaimer: Trust me; you'd know if I owned it.

**Chapter 7:** **Guy Bonding Time**

"Oh, dear. This calls for a very special blend of psychology...and EXTREME VIOLENCE!"—Vyvian, The Young Ones: Bambi (no idea what this is, but I found the quote and thought it was funny)

XxXxX

When Harry reported to Majoram Kiliith's broom closet for his first official session of counseling that Friday, he was more than a little miffed to see a sign nailed to the door reading,

"OFFICE MOVED TO SEVENTH FLOOR ROOM IN FRONT OF TAPESTRY OF BARNABAS THE BARMY. HOP PAST WALL 3 TIMES ON ONE FOOT, WHISTLING ANY SONG YOU LIKE, IN ORDER TO GAIN ACCESS. THANKS, DUDE—MAJ."

"You have got to be kidding me!" Harry hissed furiously under his breath (and under the Invisibility Cloak). Not only was this whole thing stupid, now he had to make an idiot of himself so he could get into the Room of Requirement for a psychotic guidance counselor. What next?

Unfortunately, he was about to find out after his little foot-hopping, off-key-whistling ordeal. The door to the Room of Requirement appeared, and he dashed through it. Luckily, he had worn his Invisibility Cloak so no one saw him, but he'd almost been caught by some people passing by the hallway, who showed signs of being curious as to why Peeves had decided to stalk invisibly around the seventh floor whistling "I'm a Little Teapot".

He whipped the cloak off and looked around the room. There was some hideous lime green shag carpeting on the floor, lime green and black-striped wallpaper, and purple furniture. Several squashy purple "Wyld Stallynz" beanbags lay strewn all over in no apparent order, and a large poofy couch lay facing across from a big desk at which Maj was seated in a spinning office chair, snoring, with her combat-booted feet propped up on the desk. Taking a closer look at the walls, Harry saw that they were almost papered with posters of unfamiliar Muggle bands, and not just Wyld Stallynz—there were ones emblazoned with logos for "Green Day", "3 Doors Down", "Simple Plan", "Matchbox 20", "Evanescence", "Switchfoot", "The Goo Goo Dolls", "Vertical Horizon", "Three Days Grace", and—he struggled to pronounce this—"Hoobastank".

"Uhh..." he said to announce his presence, and Maj awoke with a start, screaming, "AAH! THE CHIPMUNKS!" She blinked, rubbed her eyes, yawned, and spotted Harry.

"Ace! I was wondering when you'd show up!" she beamed, jumping to her feet, vaulting across the desk, and burying him in a rib-crushing hug. "Yo, how'd you hold up this week? Heard Ron-dude got himself in trouble with—" She let Harry go, glanced around as if to check for eavesdroppers, then exaggeratedly whispered, "—_The Man._"

"If by 'the Man', you mean 'Professor E', then yes," Harry said, shifting his weight back to make a break for it if she tried to hug him again. "Uhh, what am I supposed to do?"

"Sit, sit down. Or stand there. Or hang from the ceiling, levitate, or lie down on the floor and cover your head with a paper bag," Maj helpfully suggested. "Whatever makes you comfortable, dude. We've got forty minutes to kill."

Harry wisely elected to sit on the couch, and Maj settled herself behind her desk. Gesturing to a pair of headphones that she had been wearing during her impromptu nap, she said, "I was just listening to my tunes after redecorating the place. Like it?"

"Ahhh, it's very..." Harry tried to come up with the correct adjective to describe the kaleidoscope of brain-scorching hues that assaulted the eye when he walked in. "Colorful," he finished lamely.

"Really? Thanks!" she grinned again. "But enough about me, let's hear about you! Let's see...how old are you?"

"Sixteen. How old are _you_?" Harry shot back. Instead of being mildly affronted at his tone, as he'd expected, Maj only grinned wider, and said, "Feisty, aren't we? I'm exactly twenty-six-and-a-half years old, thank you very much, but you're only as young as you feel. Now, forgive me for not having read the numerous tabloid accounts of your infamous exploits—" here Harry flushed deep crimson, "—but, I'd like to hear how you've done with your life."

When Harry glared at her with naked ire, she didn't back down. The angrier he got, it seemed, the happier she was, but not in a malicious way—more like a clueless, Colin-Creevey type of way. "Fine, I'll just break out...your permanent record." Maj reached into a drawer inside the desk and pulled out a thick sheaf of parchment. "Ooh, very thick. Very juicy. I wonder what you've done all your five-and-a-half years here..."

She flipped lazily through the stack of papers, occasionally emitting an "Mmmmm", and a few "Swee-eet"s, as well as numerous exclamations of "Oh my!" and "Whoa..." After Harry silently sat there enduring this for a few minutes, Maj put the record down, and looked at him closely across her desk, her amber eyes squinted. "I wonder..." she murmured.

"Wonder what?"

"I wonder why you rather would have me read about you than telling me yourself, when you _telling_ me would give you the advantage of making yourself sound better than the printed page does," Maj answered. When she was being professional, Harry noted, she spoke with less familiarity, and her grammar was better. "As it is, I didn't really learn anything of consequence from this, other than the fact that you won the Triwizard Tournament in your fourth year—kudos, by the way..."

Harry still refused to respond. Maj watched him with her head cocked, like a child waiting patiently at a zoo exhibit for the alligator to move. Finally, she grinned like she'd just won the lottery. "You're tough to crack, aren't you? Well, I'm not torturing you for information, so it doesn't matter to me. I'm not the one who needs therapy..." At that Harry flushed angrily, but otherwise gave no sign that he'd heard.

Maj shrugged amiably. "Well, maybe you'll open up if I go first, so now the next thirty minutes, you get to hear..._my life story_!"

Maj sat up straight at her desk, took a pull from the "#1 Shrink!" mug on her desk, and began. "I was born and raised in Syracuse, New York, in the good old U S of A!" She gleefully pointed to one wall, where the American flag hung next to a framed orange and blue jersey, reading "Syracuse" with a "3" under it. "That's G-Mac's jersey, right there. What a hottie. Anyway, my parents and siblings were Muggles, so I had no clue about why I was the only one in the family who could make the printer work... I got an acceptance letter to the Salem Witches' Institute in Massachusetts when I was ten, and went for six years before dropping out."

"You dropped out of school?" Harry asked incredulously. Maj shrugged again.

"To be honest, I didn't _want_ to be a witch. All the hassle, the secrecy, plus I couldn't give up my beautiful technology. I'm such a geek. What I wanted to be was..." She gazed nostalgically off at one of the walls.

Harry had a hunch. "A rock star," he guessed. Maj nodded wistfully.

"Yes. A rock star. I had a band when I was seventeen to eighteen, but we mostly just covered our favorite songs—we weren't very successful when it came to writing our own. We haven't broken up, though, but our drummer quit, so me and the other member have to find a new one..." She trailed off, then shook herself and continued. "Anyway, I went to a college—see, you have to understand. In America, there are what you might call _options_ for magical people who just want a normal job. It's like technical school. I majored in Counseling Psychology and minored in Wizard-to-Muggle Relations, got my degree at twenty-one, and I've been living on the edge ever since."

"By the edge, you mean trying to help complete wackos to stop screwing up their lives," Harry clarified. Maj laughed.

"Be careful; don't hurt your own feelings. I haven't been a counselor for all that time, you know. The year after I graduated, I went on a two-year expedition trip with my other band member. _She_ majored in Research in Alternative Energy Sources and Experimental Magicks. We went down to Australia to study aboriginal tribes of magic-users, and let me tell you—not all magic is about waving a wand and garbling Latin. You wouldn't believe half the stuff...well, if you wouldn't believe it, I won't tell you, then."

"Stuff like?"

"Stuff like...stuff I can't tell you about," Maj reiterated. "Anyway...that's about it. There's my life."

"That's it?" Harry asked. He had hoped that she'd take up the rest of the session, but no joy. Now the serious interrogation would start and he'd have to answer..._personal questions. _Maj seemed to guess what he was thinking.

"Dreading actually having to talk?" she shrewdly observed. Harry blushed. Maj cocked her head again, and asked, simply, "Why?"

"Because I don't owe you anything, okay?" Harry snapped, hoping she'd just put him in detention or something, instead of this embarrassing scrutiny. "I don't even know you, and you expect me to tell you stuff, like you're a _friend_?"

Maj looked at him in a way Harry couldn't identify—like she was trying to hide the fact that she was hurt. Without saying anything, she just turned to the side, leaned back in her chair and put her headphones on again. Maybe he'd hurt her feelings so much that she didn't want to talk anymore... Harry, inexplicably, felt kind of guilty. She really wasn't so bad, after all...not like Umbridge or Fudge or any of them... He started when he heard her begin to sing along with whatever song she was listening to—

"_When your education x-ray cannot see under my skin," _she softly intoned, "_I won't tell you a damn thing that I could not tell my friends..."_ She quieted, bobbed her head to the music a while longer, then said, "When I'm Gone, by 3 Doors Down. You like music?"

Harry shrugged warily. She pulled the headphones off, turned to face him, and said, "You know, when I'm having a hard time putting my feelings into words, I find that there always is at least one good song out there that describes how I feel. Interpret it any way you want. Music is the heart and soul of human emotion, man. Right now, you're striking me as a Green Day, Simple Plan, angry at the world type." Maj turned up the volume on her player, and a song came blasting out so Harry could hear it too. "_To be hurt/ To feel lost/ To be left out in the dark/ To be kicked when you're down/ To feel like you've been pushed around/ To be on the edge of breaking down/ When no one's there to save you/ No you don't know what it's like...Welcome to my life."_ Harry was surprised. It was like she actually knew how he was feeling.

"Sound like anything you've experienced?" Maj observed wryly. Harry could only nod in disbelief. Maj looked at her watch and whistled. "We're almost out of time. Today's Friday, right? Tomorrow night, there's a meeting for all the guys in the school in my counseling sessions to get to know each other—sort of a guy bonding thing. It usually helps at the schools I visit... Anyway, be there. This room, tomorrow night. Bye." With that, she ushered him out.

XxXxX

"I'm telling you, Hermione, it was weird. She's crazy. She told me her life story, asked a few questions, never got mad, listened to rock music, and then told me to be at this meeting tomorrow night and pushed me out the door," Harry whispered to Hermione during Charms.

"Harry, I'm sure this is very new for you, and I think Professor Kiliith might be doing you good, but I just want to know this: How could she possibly have a Muggle CD player?" Hermione asked, incredulous. It hadn't occurred to Harry that Maj's electronic device shouldn't work inside Hogwarts. "This defies all known magical law! It's not possible!" she muttered to herself, getting more and more agitated as she tried to figure it out. Harry shrugged.

"Well, at one point she was babbling about some 'alternative energy sources and experimental magic' and blah blah blah. You think that might have anything to do with it?" he asked. Hermione looked frazzled and interested at the same time.

"Well...I haven't read about any...certainly shouldn't be possible...did she really say 'alternative' and 'experimental'? That sounds _fascinating_..." she muttered, trailing off. "Maybe you should ask her at this meeting thing."

"Yeah, along with the other whack jobs this school has to offer..." Harry muttered. Ron, who'd been listening the whole time, jumped in.

"Hey, at least you don't have detention with Professor 'L' or whatever his real name is. I have no clue what he wants me to do, but I bet it's a right pain in the arse."

"Ron!" Hermione hissed, but at that point Flitwick looked in their direction, and they had to go back to pretending to be doing work. When he looked away again, Harry whispered, "I'd rather have detention than do this stupid thing. At least you won't get asked about your _feelings_ and stuff..."

XxXxX

Saturday night. "So, how are you feeling now, Mr. Weasley?" came the death-silent whisper of Professor E for the third time that night.

Ron grunted, sweat pouring off him, and gasped, "Great, _Professor_, considering I'm on my two—hundred (umph!)—sixteenth—pushup!"

"Really? I counted two hundred nineteen. Well, now that I've lost count, you have to start over again at one. Continue," E mildly bantered. Ron's arms gave out and he collapsed.

"You bloody sadist!" he wheezed. "That's the eighth time tonight! What good is this doing me?"

"This is detention, Mr. Weasley: no one said anything about doing you _good_. Keep going." Ron gave him a murderous stare, and struggled to make his arms work. After the first ten, Professor E stopped him and said, "We've worked your arms enough tonight; now for your abs. Three hundred crunches. Start now."

Ron went directly for naked rebellion. "Why?" he asked in the most disrespectful tone of voice he could muster. Professor E stared at him. At least, Ron thought he was staring at him—his enormous black reflective sunglasses made it hard to tell exactly what he was staring at.

"Because," Professor E said in the most dangerously calm voice he'd used yet, "I am the teacher, and you are the student. You do what I say, when I say it. I know that you are physically capable of doing this; you are young, fit, and in good health. Start. **_Now_**."

Ron sighed, got onto his back and started doing his crunches, mumbling, "One...two...three..."

XxXxX

"One, two, and three..." Harry was counting up all the guys at the meeting. This was to say, all three guys. There was Draco Malfoy (great...), Colin Creevey (even better...), and himself. Dear Lord, why did Fate hate him? _Why?_

While Harry busied himself with glaring daggers at Malfoy, Neville huffed his way in, wheezing, "Am I late?" Colin shook his head, still staring at Harry with a look on his face like he'd won every lottery in the world simultaneously.

The door opened, and Maj breezed in. "Sorry, dudes, change of plans. Professor E was supposed to supervise this, seeing as how he's a guy, but it turns out he has some kid in detention. He can't come, and no other guy teachers were free. So...I'm your happy fun camp-mistress for the night. Woo!" She threw her hands in the air and waved them around, trying to elicit a pleased reaction from the guys.

Colin blinked and said, "Whatever," still watching Harry in a way that made Harry feel vaguely uncomfortable. Malfoy buried his head in his hands, moaning. Neville threw his hands in the air and went, "Woo!" right along with her. Harry blinked in horror a few times, thunder-struck. "What!" he gasped.

To Be Continued in the Next Chapter...

A/N: I was going to make this chapter much longer, but need more time. In the meantime, enjoy Chapter Seven, part one! Oh, and about the music—yes, there is a real, technical explanation besides "The author felt like it" that is important to the story, and two, I am ignoring the fact that this story takes place in the nineties just to make it easier for me to write with contemporary stuff. Hope that doesn't bug anyone too much.


	8. Guy Bonding Time, Part Two

**Normalcy is Overrated**

AU Written pre-HBP. With Lord Voldemort busy with...other things, is it possible for Harry to have a normal 6th year? ...Probably not. RHr HG

A/N: Wow.

I haven't updated for months.

I guess that some apologies are in order. My inspiration for writing this particular fanfic up and died on me for no good reason—which is sad, considering that I have an outline and know what I'm going to write. I began writing fanfictions in other fandoms, and one thing led to another, and... I'm going to stop making excuses.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter series. I don't. And OMG THE DEATHLY HALLOWS ON JULY 21ST!

**Chapter Eight: Guy Bonding Time, Part Two**

_They're coming to take me away, haha_

_They're coming to take me away, ho-ho, hee hee, haha_

_To the funny farm _

_Where life is beautiful all the time_

_And I'll be happy to see those nice young men in their clean white coats_

_And they're coming to take me away, haha!_

--"They're Coming to Take Me Away", by Napoleon XIV

XxXxX

"Someone's brewing potions, my Lord... Kumbaya ...Someone's levitating, my Lord... Kumbaya... Someone's playing Quidditch, my Lord... Kumbaya..." Maj warbled, strumming an acoustic guitar by a roaring campfire (courtesy the Room of Requirement). Harry, Malfoy, Neville, and Colin were all seated around the fire. She gestured for all of them to join in.

"_Ohh, Lo-ord, Kumbaya..._" Only Neville and Colin joined in.

Malfoy made a face. "Why are we singing this ridiculous Muggle nonsense?" he snapped. "'Kumbaya' isn't even a real word!"

"Is too," Maj protested. "Besides, even if it isn't, neither is _Alohomora _or _Rictusempra_ or any other gibberish that casting magic requires. Why isn't music allowed to require gibberish?"

"Because..." Malfoy trailed off when he realized that he had no argument. "Because," he finished lamely.

"Well, heaven forbid I should sing something I have no permission to sing..." Maj dryly said, putting her guitar down. "Guess it's time to bond. Now, I'm going to go around the circle, and every person here is going to say one thing about themselves that no one else knows. Short blond dude, we'll start with you." She pointed to Colin.

Colin sighed. "My dad married a witch—and she's really mean. I thought it would be cool to have a mum who understands my needs, but...all she ever does is make goo-goo eyes at Dad and ignore me. Dad writes me all the time about how great she is, and I feel like he doesn't care about me anymore..." Little tears welled up in his eyes. "_And my cat ran away, and I'm flunking Transfiguration and I wanna go home!_" he cried. "_No one loves meee!!!_"

Maj hurried over to him and buried him in a big hug. "There, there, little dude, it's okay," she crooned. Malfoy made gagging noises. "I'm sure your new mom is nicer than you think. You're just having a hard time dealing with change, and that's natural..."

Colin sniffled. "Can I have a cookie?" he asked.

"Yes, you may," Maj said, and grabbed a cookie from a convenient nearby tray. "I love this room," she said to the other three, grinning. "Okay, pale blond superiority-complex kid, you're next." She could only have meant Malfoy.

Malfoy scowled and folded his arms. "I have nothing to say," he said.

"Sure you do," Maj said cheerfully. "None of this leaves this room, you realize."

Malfoy scowled, but relented. "My parents broke up because my mother felt my father wasn't worried enough about our needs. What's worse is that she up and marries this filthy Muggle milkman—she writes to me about him all the time, how _great_ he is, the cute way he delivers the _milk_, his _adorable_...sons..."

Malfoy's eyes widened as sickening realization hit. Colin had the exact same expression. They looked up at each other at the same time.

"**_No way!_**" they screamed. "**_We're brothers???_**"

XxXxX

Ron was sprawled out on the floor of Professor E's office. He didn't think he'd ever be able to move again. Ever. He hurt in places that he didn't think had nerves.

Professor E silently shook his head. "We need to work on your endurance," he remarked.

Ron would have scowled if he had the strength. "Sir, if I may...I really don't think...it's humanly possible...to do thirteen hundred squats...in an hour...with you sitting on the bar. While grading tests," he panted.

"Now, now, Mr. Weasley, I don't weigh that much," Professor E remarked. "And in any case, you should push yourself harder than you do. You have potential."

"Flattered...sir," Ron sarcastically gasped.

"Well, in honor of your hard work, I'm going to let you ask me a personal question. Any question. Ask away. I'm sure you have many," Professor E said, a small smirk gracing a corner of his lips.

"Well...sir..." Ron began. He didn't want to squander his one question. "Why...do you wear sunglasses...indoors...all the time?" Indeed, E had not removed his shades even as the afternoon faded into evening into night.

Professor E was silent for a while. "Because," he finally said, "it's my style."

XxXxX

Maj cackled and clapped her hands together. "See?" she joyfully announced. "You're bonding already! Isn't this cute?"

Malfoy looked as if he would retch. "I...am family...with the Creevey crew," he stammered disbelievingly.

"I don't want him as a brother!" Colin wailed. "What will Dennis say?" Harry felt bad for Colin. Even if the kid was a nuisance, no one deserved sibling-ship with Malfoy.

Maj looked a little put off by their reactions, but pressed on. "Okay, Ace, you're on. Enlighten us," she said, pointing to Harry.

"Me?" Harry really didn't want to bare his soul to the room. "Do I have to?"

"Yes," Maj said simply.

Harry thought for a moment, and then decided on his chosen story. "One time, when I was five," he began, "I really wanted a puppy. So, for my birthday, my adoptive family invited over my Aunt Marge, who wasn't even my biological aunt, and her bulldog, Ripper." The memory was humiliating, but better than any current information he could dish out, such as the fact that he shared a mental link with a bald raging murderous lunatic psycho. "Ripper chased me up a tree, where I remained for eight hours. My aunt and uncle left me there, Marge refused to call her dog off, and my cousin Dudley laughed at me until ice cream came out of his nose. The end."

Neville and Colin sympathized, "Oh, that's awful." Malfoy was doubled over with laughter. Maj snorted. "You got that woman good before your third year, as I recall from your permanent record," she said, smirking at the mental image. "Blew her up, right?"

"Like a great huge blimp," Harry said, surprising himself by grinning a bit at the memory himself. Years later, looking back, he realized it _was_ funny.

"Okay, we gotta wrap it up soon," Maj said. "Brunette self-esteem-issues, take it away."

Neville gulped. "I don't have self esteem issues," he protested. "I like myself just fine."

Maj beamed so brightly that you'd think she had just found a way to travel back in time to Woodstock. "That's wonderful!" she shouted, wrapping an arm around his neck and giving him a power noogie. "I'm so glad to hear that!"

"You...are?" Neville asked, hope entering his eyes.

"Yes!" she said ecstatically. "You contradicted me! You defended yourself! You didn't hesitate! Do you know what this means?"

"That...I'm slowly achieving self-actualization?" Neville guessed.

"That too!" Maj beamed. "But even better, I'm twenty dollars richer! I just gotta find Professor E and beat it out of him..."

Neville looked confused, hurt, and indignant. "You bet on whether I had the guts to stand up for myself?" he demanded angrily, standing up.

Maj blushed. "Well... I was worried..."

Neville stormed out. Maj called after him, "Come on, little dude! I was betting _your_ side!"

XxXxX

Ron limped into the Gryffindor common room, wincing with every step. "Bloody sadist," he sulked to himself. Hermione was the only one still up. Upon spotting Ron, she got up and helped him into a couch, sitting next to him. "What happened to you?" she asked, brown eyes filled with worry.

"Professor E happened, that's what," Ron snapped. "But don't you worry; I'll get him yet..."

"That's awful," Hermione said, and yawned widely. It was about one in the morning. "You should get some rest," she said hazily.

"Naw, I'm still wide awake. You can sleep if you want," Ron said, feeling guilty that she stayed up to make sure he got in. "Did Harry get back?"

"No..." Hermione muttered, leaning on Ron's shoulder. Suddenly, she realized what she was doing, and turned the other direction, curling up with her feet close to Ron and her head on the arm of the couch. Ron shifted awkwardly. "Well..." he said, "...'Night."

"'Night," Hermione replied.

Ron shifted again, and then found out what was making him so uncomfortable—he was sitting on an envelope. He pulled it out and opened it—

_Ron—_

_KISS HER, YOU FOOL!_

_Darn it, you're too late, aren't you?_

_Love and Kisses,_

_A Friend_

"Dang it all, that's just creepy..." Ron whispered.

XxXxX

The next morning, Ron found Harry with singed, disheveled hair, circles under his eyes, and black smudges on his face. "Maj decided it would be cool to have a pillow fight next to a roaring campfire at three in the morning," he explained. Ron winced, both from sympathy and from muscle aches. He had woken up that morning wishing for the cold black embrace of death—that's how bad it was.

Hermione spooned oatmeal into Ron's mouth, since Ron's arm screamed in protest every time he lifted a fork. "Don't get used to this," she warned. Ron nodded and winced again.

Harry took a big bite of eggs. "The bonding thing wasn't as bad as it could have been, but—"

A large square package landed in front of him. "...What?" Harry asked.

"Looks like it's for you," Hermione said simply.

Harry lifted the top of the box off—and slammed it closed quickly. "There is a small bulldog in there," he said, strangely calm for someone holding the lid on a box writhing as if possessed. From across the Great Hall, Malfoy was yukking it up at a volume clearly audible for everyone to hear.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "_This means war_," he growled.

A/N: Forgive me! Reviews, please! I love you all.

Will Ron ever discover his stalker's identity? What will happen between Colin and Malfoy? Why _does_ Professor E wear sunglasses? And how will this play out between Harry and Draco? Next Chapter: Lucius and Bella's date.


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